Letters for personal catharsis

Hold Steady

I had no intention to come out here today. After all, how much is there to say when your world consists of a small apartment? I’m not getting out of the house yet. Not even sure I could MAKE it out of the house before I wanted to lay down and die.

Last night was my last diazepam pill, and thank the fucking goddess for that. While I’m gonna miss the relief it brings to my ever-aching back, I’m NOT going to miss this pervasive drug induced depression – which, btw, is pretty damned bad this morning. Hasn’t been helped by getting cut off by my bro mid-sentence. Again. He was so far off what I was telling him that he didn’t even bother to go back and ask me what I was saying.

I was trying to tell him why I felt so down.

A news story caught my eye this morning; my home state is flooding. That made me search out some local news, to try and get more info, which led to me seeing pictures, which led to me googling my old home territory.

What a fucking shock.

They say you can never really go home, and I guess that’s true. I would get lost in my old haunts now. New buildings, new neighborhoods, new businesses. Found a pic of the Milwaukee skyline. It’s completely different. Well am I familiar with that skyline. I can see the old skyline in it, but it’s the new additions that throw me for a loop. When did that building go up? How did the trees get so big? Small changes that have taken 15 years to complete came upon me in an instant.

And I’m sad about it. I keep telling myself that when I lived there I would be happy for the changes; I never felt there was enough stuff to do or see to keep me occupied. But now…the fields and trees I played in are gone, replaced by apartment buildings and condos. The school I went to, once surrounded by fields that the science department used to take us out into to study stuff, is now enclosed by an industrial park that’s polluted the streams nearby.

I feel like my childhood just got ripped away by a few google shots.

This probably happens to everybody, sooner or later. But you know…this is my first time.

Can’t tell you how upsetting it is to realize how OLD I am. It’s easy to kid myself most of the time. Oh, I look good for my age and blah-blah-blah. But my hometown shows the changes my face doesn’t: it’s been 50 years. Fifty years on this path. It’s hard not to wonder what might have been, had I taken any of the other forks in my road. Where would I be, what would I be doing, how would I be living? Seeing all those pictures of the place I grew up looking so DIFFERENT just brought it all up for me.

The longer you live, the worse that question becomes. You get further and further away from those alternate realities. And now…Now I’m almost on the opposite side of the spectrum.

Or that’s what it feels like.

Part of me wants a do-over. Another shot at this. The other part of me just wants it to end.

Of course I’m making the other me all rosy. I don’t see myself as crippled in that alternate reality. I don’t see myself as poor, or as fat. No. I’m successful. A non-smoker. Maybe single, but not lonely. Living in a killer place, with nice things. I’ve got a savings account and a pension.

But the truth is that I’d be doing the same things as I’d always done. Making the same mistakes, because I never took the time to look any deeper into myself. I’d be going to the same places, whether or not they’d had a face-lift or were operating under a new name.

If I was even alive.

That, alone, is a big question mark. Not so much because of my suicide ideation, but because of my stalker. I left in large part because of him. Couldn’t get far enough away, to be honest. And a search a few years back revealed information that, even though I’m on the other side of the world, frightened me.

What a found was a mug shot. Of my stalker, arrested not far from the last place I lived in the states.

He was following me.

Just writing it all down makes me realize how unrealistic my rosy view of the alternate me is. I don’t think he’d allow me to live, if he had the chance. That’s the kind of guy he was. And had I stayed there, in the same place, with the same people, doing the same things – he would have caught me. Without a doubt.

Well, that effectively broke any nostalgia depression I had going.

As for anything and everything else…The diazepam should clear out of my system soon. I resolve I’m not going to make any decisions about anything until that happens. Screw walking. Screw talking to my bro. Just get clean of it and see how I feel. Been weaning myself off the other pain killers, too. Had to take something in the evening last night; the ache was just too deep and uncomfortable. Hate to think this is the way I’m gonna feel until my back gets straightened out, but I’m not exactly willing to continue popping pain pills and diazepam.

I’m trying to not bitch too much about anything. That’s challenging as I feel increased pain and discomfort mixed with depression. But I feel like I don’t have much choice. The docs will just give me more diazepam or pain killers. My brother will just continue to cut me off when I speak, which isn’t helping. So it’s back to my blog rambling, to try and get out what I can here. Clear my head as much as I can.

Currently a final year English student at the University of Cambridge. Producing Intern for Fuel Theatre July-October 2016. Aspiring Arts Administrator/Theatre Producer, blogging about my projects (mostly).

#ActuallyAutistic - An Aspie obsessed with writing. This site is intend to inspire through sharing stories & experiences. The opinions of the writers are their own. I am just an Autistic woman - NOT a medical professional.